


overdrive

by blake0tyler



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Porn with Feelings, Really explicit, Service Top Chris, and just a little bit soft, i said what i said, power bottom tobin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler
Summary: They’ll get each other off late at night in an empty hotel room and laugh about it the next day at practice.No big deal.//4 times Christen and Tobin do each other a favor, and 1 time they don’t have to.





	overdrive

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> This is hella explicit. Be warned. 
> 
> (Write the stuff you want to read, am I right)

:::

**one.**

:::

It happens, first, at an away game.

It happens because they’re both tipsy and turned on, and sharing a room—and Tobin doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore, and Christen is bored.

It happens because this weird tension between them has been building to extreme levels lately and it’s time to make it snap—or at least to take the edge off. It happens because Tobin is wearing those stupid torn-up black jeans which drive Christen a little bit crazy, and because Christen’s hair is up and her neck is exposed, which makes Tobin look at her even more than usual.

It happens because they’re friends and it’s no big deal. 

No big deal at all.

All they’ll do is get each other off late at night in an empty hotel room and laugh about it the next day at practice.

That’s what Christen tells herself, anyway.

:::

All around them, the lights have been dimmed.

They played well today, both of them scoring once; Tobin in the 29th minute and Christen in the 72nd. She has been buzzing with energy all evening. Has been enjoying the celebratory champagne—despite the fact that they’re in training and they’re not supposed to drink. Has been feeling hot all over every single time that Tobin has so much as glanced at her.

“Do you guys know that I love you?” Kelley is hanging against the bar, one arm slung over Tobin’s shoulder and swaying into Christen’s space with every single word she says. “I really just _love _you.”

Christen’s not the only person who might have taken slightly too much advantage of the fact that the hotel offered them free drinks to congratulate them on their win. 

Alex is grinning. “I’ll take her upstairs—let her sleep it off in time for practice tomorrow.”

“I’m just celebrating,” Kelley says, “Stop killing my vibe, Alex.”

Still, she presses a kiss to both Tobin and Christen’s heads, and then lets Alex drag her out of the hotel restaurant—

—and suddenly, just like that, it’s only the two of them left.

Tobin shifts a little and her knee brushes against Christen’s leg; Christen can’t tell if it’s intentional or not. It’s well past two already. They’re the last people at the bar, and in the low light, Tobin’s skin looks like it’s glowing a little; Christen has been more than a little distracted by it for the last hour or so. 

“So…” she says, breaking the silence and staring down at the space between them.

The tension is immediate and hot, and kind of shaky, too—like they’re both a little out of their comfort zone, not willing to give in to anything, but still… Still here.

When everyone has called it a night, already, and it’s just them.

It has been happening more often than not lately. 

“So,” Tobin echoes, glancing over, her eyes dark. She’s silent for a moment, then adds, “You were so good today, Chris. That goal was just…”

She shakes her head like she can’t quite believe it, her smile slowly going wider, and Christen feels her throat go dry.

It’s not that Tobin never compliments her. It’s that they’re alone in a bar and Tobin’s voice is low and she is complimenting her. “Yeah?”

Tobin nods slowly. “Classic Christen Press; makes the run, receives the ball on her right, turns it past the defense, switches to her left foot, _strikes_.” 

Christen smiles. “If this whole soccer business doesn’t work out, you could always apply to be commentator.”

“Nah,” Tobin shrugs. “I’d be too biased.”

“Why?”

“I’d talk about you too much.” 

The words still in the air between them.

Christen _knows_. She knows Tobin is just joking, can see the wide grin on her face, but still—there’s something about the way she says it, almost like a challenge, with the slightest bit of roughness to her voice, the push of it crawling right under Christen’s skin and making her feel—

God.

She feels really hot.

With a shake of her head, she picks up the glass in front of her and takes another sip, trying to cool herself down. Instead, it only makes her head spin. “You’re an idiot.”

Tobin knocks back her own drink and then turns her body a little bit more, pushing her leg harder against Christen’s knee, and this time it’s absolutely intentional.

“Chris.”

The way Tobin says her name curls tight and low in Christen’s stomach. She feels like if she’ll reply, her voice will give it away—more than her blushing cheeks, more than her crossed legs; Tobin will be able to hear it in her voice, will be able to know. Know that she’s not even really doing anything, and still, she’s got Christen feeling all… Well, she’s got her all…

She hums vaguely in acknowledgement, just to do something.

“This dress,” Tobin says, then, slowly, her fingers inching forward, reaching like she’s going to brush the bare skin of Christen’s back, but waiting for long, agonizing seconds. “I just wanted to say that it looks really good. You look—you look really good.”

God.

If this is how Tobin usually talks up girls, Christen wishes that she wasn’t so goddamn responsive to it.

She plays into it, though, thinking to herself, _friends we’re friends just friends, _thinking that she might as well call Tobin out on it. “Do you use that line on all the girls you want to sleep with?”

Almost as soon as she’s said it, she curses herself for the implication.

But rather than say anything, Tobin reaches forward and softly strokes her hand over Christen’s skin, and Christen has to bite down on her lip. Has to keep thinking _friends just friends_, before she breathes out, almost defensively, “I think I’m a little tipsy.”

Tobin nods. “Yeah, me too.”

“And if you keep—” Christen has to bite back a moan when Tobin’s fingers press down a little harder, sliding lower to her hip, more confidently than before. She tries again. “You’re making me—”

“What?” Tobin says, a little insistently. “I’m making you what, Chris?”

“You’re making me shiver,” she whispers, which is just an inch away from the truth, which is _you’re making me wet, _and Christen is trying—

She is willing her body to just stop reacting this strongly.

But it’s—

It’s difficult.

Tobin shifts forward, a bit more into her space, and the closeness of it is overwhelming—the way Christen can see Tobin’s eyelashes so clearly, the way she can nearly taste the alcohol on Tobin’s lips.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shakes her head—a little too quickly maybe.

And then Tobin smirks, that stupid attractive smile that makes Christen want to push her hard against the bar, already. “You like this, then?”

Fuck.

Christen doesn’t want to say it. There’s a danger in saying it out loud, something Christen doesn’t fully want to explore. Instead, she tries to laugh it off, again. “Nah, I just haven’t gotten laid in a while, and my body’s—it’s just in overdrive, I guess.” 

The moment she says it, she bites down on her bottom lip, trying to take the words back, because she did _not _mean to say that out loud.

Tobin is looking at her with an expression that Christen can’t quite place, and it suddenly makes her nervous, makes it feel a little too real— 

“Sorry,” she laughs, trying to play it off. “That’s embarrassing. I don’t know why I just admitted that I haven’t had sex in a while.” _Fuck. _“… and then repeated it.”

Tobin swallows hard, and Christen panics.

“Not that I haven’t, like, had—had any… relief.” She stumbles over her words, that last drink making it sound just the slightest bit out of control. “I mean, obviously I’ve touched myself. Like, a lot, actually.”

Tobin groans. “_Christen_.”

She falls silent.

Tobin’s breathing has gone a little unsteady, and she’s looking at Christen like she’s visualizing something very specific, like she’s _this _close to leaning in—

And that thought—

Well, for half a moment Christen thinks that maybe it wasn’t _that _embarrassing to say it out loud. That maybe admitting she hasn’t slept with anybody recently was worth it for the way that it has Tobin all flustered and tense.

The rush of control makes her feel bold.

She smirks a little bit, then says, “You like that, then? The thought of me touching myself?”

“You need to stop.” Tobin sounds a little overwhelmed. “_You_— Chris, you can’t say those things.”

Christen licks at her bottom lip. “Why not?”

“Because—” Tobin sounds exasperated, and then she adds, in a sort of pained whisper, “It’s really turning me on.”

God…

Christen wants to say something witty. Wants to be cool and teasing, but all she manages to get out is, “Yeah, well—that makes two of us.”

Tobin leans forward on the bar, her arms flexing in the white t-shirt that she’s wearing. Looking at it, makes Christen’s mouth dry.

There’s a weird sort of push and pull between them, and then Tobin says, “We’re friends.”

“Obviously,” Christen says, echoes it to herself: _friends just friends we’re friends_. She doesn’t know why she is sounding so short of breath. She can feel how the night is slowly beginning to tip toward something that they can’t turn back from. She can feel the shift in everything. Feels like she can’t trust herself, like, maybe, this is a really, really bad idea. But… “Sounds like we could help each other out, though.”

Tobin makes a noise. “I really don’t think—”

“I’m serious,” Christen says, and it sounds more desperate than she means it to. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything. It’s just that—”

When Christen was younger, people used to say she wasn’t brave enough.

Fuck that.

“I mean, I obviously think you’re attractive.” She says it, watches the reaction play out on Tobin’s face, proving her fucking point, and it’s an understatement, really. “I think you’re hot, okay? And you… well…” There’s a beat of silence where she doesn’t really want to say it, but the look in Tobin’s eyes pushes her over the edge. “You seem to think I’m attractive, too. It doesn’t have to be anything complicated. It would be like… like a favor. If two friends happen to be a little bit into each other, really, I don’t see the problem—”

Tobin kisses her. 

She’d been expecting it, a little bit, had been wanting it _a lot—_and still, it takes the breath from Christen’s lungs.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed.

There was this one time when Christen first got called up for camp—this few seconds experimental “just for fun” thing, before they both got overwhelmed and laughed it off instead. There was this drunken moment at Allie’s wedding, when it had seemed like they were so far away from the reality of their daily soccer lives, that Christen had wanted to take advantage of that feeling. There have been countless other times, where she knows Tobin was thinking about it and she was, too—but there’s never been _this_.

Tobin’s mouth is hot and insistent, all need and want and _push. _

She kisses fast; fingers sliding up the back of Christen’s neck, finding the better angle, licking into Christen’s mouth with an almost desperate determination.

Christen’s whole body burns up. Tobin’s hand is still on the bare skin of her back and before she knows what she’s doing, Christen is already sliding off the her stool, pressing herself between Tobin’s knees, arching into it, just getting closer, closer—

“_Fuck_, Chris—” Tobin breathes out, pulling away.

She’s looking flushed and turned on in a way that surges through Christen’s body like a wave of power—that she can get Tobin to look at her like that with only a kiss.

She doesn’t say anything, just grabs a hold of Tobin’s hand and pulls her after her, out of the bar, in the direction of the elevator.

The doors haven’t even closed yet, and Tobin’s mouth is already back on hers. She’s got one hand sliding down Christen’s back to her ass—a little rough, a little possessive this quickly, and Christen gasps, likes it more than she’d admit.

She knows she’s wet; is already rocking forward into Tobin’s touch, can’t stop the needy whimper that escapes from the back of her throat.

_Friends_, she’s thinking, _we’re just friends, don’t let her hear—_

Tobin kisses her way down Christen’s neck and Christen moans.

“God, that’s—” Her breath cuts short as Tobin licks at her pulse. “—_fuck_—feels really good.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a smug undertone in Tobin’s voice. She pulls back and looks at Christen, all hot breath against her lips and pressure on her body—and for a second, Christen can’t look away, can’t do anything but let Tobin take her in, let her see exactly what she’s doing to her. 

Then, the elevator doors slide open and they’re on their floor, where their room is, where their bed is—

Christen pushes Tobin back, walks out into the hallway.

She’s fumbling with the key card, getting distracted by Tobin’s hand on her back, the needy way she’s pushing closer to Christen, like she just can’t wait to get inside the room, to get her hands—

The door clicks open and Christen stumbles inside. There’s a single moment of darkness and quiet, and then the door closes and Christen is already turning, pushing Tobin back against it, flipping things around as she kisses her.

It’s so much, so soon—

She has to take control, has to try and slow it down a bit.

She works her hands under Tobin’s shirt, running them slowly up her sides. Her head is spinning, but she wants to _feel _it. She kisses Tobin long and a little bit dirty; there’s a groan at the back of Tobin’s throat when Christen bites down on her bottom lip; she smirks and licks at Tobin’s tongue until Tobin’s fingers are pressing so hard into Christen’s hips that it almost hurts.

Christen pushes forward, works her body against Tobin’s until Tobin’s reaching for her leg, pulling it up so that their hips are slotted together.

Tobin’s fingers skim under the hem of Christen’s dress and Christen breaks apart, says, “Take it off—the dress—_off_.”

When Tobin doesn’t immediately move, she steps back, finds the zip herself and slides it down, just like that.

The dress falls—and Christen thinks she could get addicted to the look in Tobin’s eyes; all dark want and sex appeal as her eyes roam up the length of Christen’s body.

It’s not exactly like Christen would have imagined it—_has, _in fact, imagined it.

She’s still got bruises on her knees from the game and her underwear is simple; black and practical, nothing lacy or particularly beautiful. She’s not wearing a bra, though, and Tobin is looking at her in a way that pushes all of the heat right between Christen’s legs.

She fights the urge to whimper, fights the urge to shiver with anticipation. Instead, she steps back, further into the room, pulling hard on Tobin’s shirt to get her to come with.

“I want—” Christen says, fumbling a little with the fabric of Tobin’s t-shirt, before pressing her lips to Tobin’s neck and making herself say what she really wants to say. “You need to be naked.”

Tobin’s already pulling it up over her head, is already kicking her shoes off, and then, she is kissing Christen again. Her fingers, warm and kind of shaky, skim up Christen’s ribcage. Her knee is already working its way between Christen’s thighs, and Christen—

_God, _she is so worked up already—

Has really not had anyone make her feel like this in—

Tobin nips at her bottom lip, moves her hand up at the same time, and flicks her thumb teasingly over Christen’s nipple.

“_Fuck—_” Christen chokes out, into Tobin’s mouth. “_Fuck_, yes…”

She could come like this—swears she can feel herself getting slicker and wetter on the tops of her thighs. It’s almost embarrassing, how turned on she is, only from a little bit of making out and the feeling of Tobin’s hands on her boobs. It’s almost embarrassing—except she can feel the way Tobin’s skin is warm all over, how her breath is completely ragged, how she keeps pushing her hips forward, like maybe Christen isn’t the only one, who really, really needs—

“You’re hot when you swear,” Tobin says, her voice hoarse and low against Christen’s skin.

Christen swallows hard, locks her gaze on Tobin’s. “Yeah? Maybe you should make me do it again.”

Tobin groans, and then she’s pushing Christen back until her legs hit the mattress. She’s still wearing her jeans, and Christen reaches for the button, tries to pop it open, tries to get her hands inside—

But Tobin pushes her back and climbs on top of her, her mouth all over Christen’s body; kissing down her collarbones, licking at her neck, and Christen can’t do anything but moan.

Tobin flicks her tongue against Christen’s nipple, experimentally; smiles a little at the way Christen arches up, sucks it into her mouth—and Christen nearly screams. “_Fuck_—yes, that’s… _yes_.”

She knows she’s not making sense. She knows she’s already breaking the promise to herself not to let Tobin know how much she’s into this. She hadn’t wanted to be so obvious about it—but there is no way back.

Tobin pushes her knees apart, kisses her neck hard, and Christen—

She pulls on the fabric of Tobin’s jeans, nails dragging a little too hard over Tobin’s hips. “Tobin—I need—_now_.”

Tobin leans back, grins at her a little smugly. “What do you need?”

Christen groans, falls back into the pillows. “I—” she breathes out. “I just—” She’s getting frustrated, both by the fact that Tobin’s not holding her down anymore and the fact that Tobin is still wearing so many clothes. “You need to…”

Tobin licks her bottom lip. “What, Chris? Say it.”

She swallows, pushes her nerve, then says, looking right into Tobin’s eyes, “If you want me to fuck you, you need to take your jeans off now.”

And, _oh_—

That seems to do it just fine.

Tobin makes a sort of choking sound, her eyes going up and down Christen’s almost-naked body like she can’t quite get enough. Then, she’s moving back, gets off the bed. She pulls her sports bra up over her head, and Christen’s throat goes dry at the sight—

Before she can do anything, Tobin is already moving to take her jeans off, but suddenly, Christen wants to do it herself; wants to be the one to get Tobin naked.

She shifts forward, to the edge of the bed, grabbing a hold of Tobin’s hips. She kisses her way down Tobin’s stomach, pulling her jeans down at the same time. She taps Tobin’s leg, urging her to step out of them, while she drags her mouth up over Tobin’s hip.

And then Christen is kissing upwards, getting onto her knees on the bed as she slides her hands up Tobin’s sides, cupping her breasts right before licking one of her nipples into her mouth.

Tobin groans. “Fuck—oh my—_Chris_.” 

Christen hums, licks a little harder at Tobin’s nipple, before pulling on her hips and dragging Tobin back onto the bed.

There’s a second or so where she can feel Tobin resist to Christen trying to get her on her back, but then she gives in, moaning as Christen’s nails dig a little bit into her sides.

Christen wastes no time—swings her leg over Tobin’s hips, pushes her down and straddles her.

The sight is unravelling.

Tobin’s hair is all tousled. She’s naked except for her white boxers; she’s got her hands on Christen’s hips and she’s looking like she can’t believe what is happening.

Christen bends forward and kisses her, hot and messy; reveling in being on top; reveling in making Tobin moan into her mouth; reveling in the way that she seems to be able to draw out a response just from rocking her hips down a little bit.

She presses wet and open-mouthed kisses to Tobin’s neck, sucks a little at the spot just below her ear—something that makes Tobin shudder so hard that Christen can’t help but grin into her neck. She begins to toy with the waistband of Tobin’s boxers, sliding her fingers under just a little bit, a little teasingly—

Tobin’s hips rock upwards, and Christen can’t believe she gets to do this.

She pulls back, just a second, just to look at the sight in front of her.

“You love being on your back, don’t you?” Christen says, grinning at the realization.

Tobin scoffs like that’s ridiculous, moving her hands higher up on Christen’s hips. “Just wait until I—”

Christen pins Tobin’s wrists against the mattress and Tobin moans as she does it. Christen feels the heat of it through her entire body; up her neck, between her legs.

She leans forward, again, ghosts her mouth over Tobin’s ear. “Oh yeah? Then why does it seem like you’re so into this…”

Tobin nearly whimpers. “_Christen_—”

It pulls on Christen’s heart, the neediness, the desperation. The way that Tobin really seems somewhat unable to admit it; the way she’s on her back, shaking, more vulnerable than Christen’s ever seen her.

It makes her suddenly want to be softer; makes her want to sink down into the heat of it and kiss Tobin for a moment, to get closer. She slowly lets go of Tobin’s wrists, slides a thigh between Tobin’s spread legs, instead, and kisses her again, and again, and again.

“You’re gorgeous,” she pants against Tobin’s lips, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to let Tobin know that Christen is shaking, too. “You’re making me hot all over.” She doesn’t usually _talk _this much, but Tobin’s gaze is dark and heated, and suddenly she can’t stop. Can’t stop admitting everything that she’s supposed to keep private. “Fuck, Tobin, I’m so wet…” She rocks forward into Tobin’s leg, bites on her lip at the pressure. “Can’t wait until you touch me. Can’t wait until you fuck me. Been thinking—been thinking so much about it.”

Tobin groans. She strokes her hand over Christen’s breast, fingers playing with her nipple. Her voice is breathless when she says, “You’ve thought about this?”

Christen’s eyes flutter closed. “Yes.”

“When you—” Tobin swallows hard. “When you touched yourself?”

Christen bites her lip, then nods. “_Yes_.”

Tobin inhale is sharp and sudden, and then Christen is the one who’s on her back, Tobin pressing down between her hips and kissing her hard. She bites at Christen’s pulse point, which makes her legs spread wider, her hips buck up—

Tobin’s fingers are on the waistband of her panties. “Can I—”

“_Please_.”

Tobin drags her panties down, and Christen is so turned on that it almost hurts, the first touch of Tobin’s fingers almost too much. She cries out, needs the second to breathe—and then Tobin’s fingers are sliding through her, slick and wet, and Christen loses all focus instantly.

She’s so close to coming already. Won’t take long, if—

“Tobin,” she rasps out. “Just—”

Her breath cuts short as Tobin circles her clit, kisses her neck, licks at her nipples, takes her time—

“Is this what you would think about?” Tobin says into her skin, dipping the tips of her fingers inside for one, two teasing seconds, before sliding out again. “Did you want me to touch you like this?”

She does it again, and Christen thinks she’s going to scream.

“_No_,” she says, breathless. “Not like this.” For a second, Tobin stills, and it gives Christen just enough focus to open her eyes and look at Tobin when she says, “I wanted you to fuck me.”

The reaction is almost instant.

Tobin’s whole body tenses up and she swears, “_Fuck_—Christen.”

And then, she’s sliding her fingers in for real—and everything blurs. Tobin’s lips on Christen’s skin; the push and pull of her wrist; the way Christen keeps arching up and into it; the way Tobin’s working her up so rapidly that she can’t really feel anything but the waves of pleasure as they roll through her body, tighter and tighter—

“I think I’m…” Christen chokes out. “I’m going to—”

“God, you’re beautiful,” Tobin says, and Christen comes.

It takes her a while to get down from the high.

Tobin kisses her softly, sliding her fingers out and looking at Christen like she can’t quite believe this really just happened. Christen can barely believe it, either—that is, if she wouldn’t be so achingly aware of the fact that the evidence is sticky between her thighs, and Tobin’s eyes are just as dark and hazy as before.

She swallows hard at the sight, and then puts a hand on Tobin’s sternum.

“Roll over,” she whispers softly, kissing Tobin’s neck. “Want to make you feel good.”

Tobin bites her lip, then rolls onto her back. This time, Christen is slower with climbing on top. She presses kisses to Tobin’s neck and collarbones until Tobin’s breath is speeding up; she runs her hands up and down Tobin’s hips and sides, until Tobin’s got goosebumps all over her skin; she licks at Tobin’s nipples until Tobin is pulling on her hair a little bit to try and get her closer.

Christen takes off Tobin’s boxers and then drifts her fingers between Tobin’s thighs.

“What do you want?” she asks softly. “What do you like?”

Her fingers inch higher and Tobin moans, head falling back into the pillow.

“Tell me,” Christen whispers. “Do you want my fingers?” She pushes them a little higher, not quite touching but close enough. She licks at Tobin’s neck, hot and teasing, her breath on Tobin’s ear as she says, “Do you want my mouth?”

“_Fuck_,” Tobin chokes out. “Just—Chris, just anything.”

“Mmm,” Christen says, sliding the tips of her fingers over Tobin’s clit and loving the way Tobin gasps. “Good choice.”

She uses her fingers first; slow and teasing, then quicker and harder. She works Tobin up until she’s pretty sure that Tobin’s only about a minute away from coming—and then she slides down on the bed, positions herself right between Tobin’s legs, and licks a hard, wet line, right up Tobin’s thigh.

It doesn’t take long.

She makes Tobin come with her tongue—with Tobin’s hands fisted into the sheets, and her hips off the bed, to an endless string of, “_Chris—yes, like that—fuck—that’s it—_” 

After, Christen suddenly feels shy.

She rolls onto her back a little awkwardly, suddenly not sure where they’re at now—what’s allowed and not.

“Woah…” Tobin says, “That was…”

“Yeah…” Christen says.

It’s quiet for a second, and then Tobin says, “Are you feeling okay?”

There’s the slightest edge of nervousness in her voice, and somehow it helps a bit; to know that Tobin also doesn’t really know what the next step is.

“I’m good” Christen says. “Are you?”

Tobin nods. “Yes, that was—it was really…” For a second she seems at loss for words, not knowing how to say what she wants to say. Christen’s heart is beating high in her throat as she watches Tobin play with the hem of the sheets; and, then, Tobin adds, “Well—that was one way to celebrate that win.”

_Right._

Christen nearly laughs at herself.

She blinks hard; it’s a weird mix of relief—to know that they’re fine, that they’re still talking, that they _were _on the same page about this—and something else… Something a little different in the center of her chest. Something that’s suddenly snapped.

She forces herself to grin. “Yeah, it was all right, I guess…”

Tobin’s already rolling her eyes, and _this_—

_This _is what they do.

They’re friends. They’re teammates. They were turned on; they can have sex, and then laugh about it. No big deal, like they agreed on. 

Tobin nudges Christen’s shoulder. “Should we… uh—put pjs on, then?”

Christen laughs. “Yeah, okay,” she says. 

It’s cool, she thinks to herself. They’ll be fine. All that happened was that they had sex. All that happened was that they got each other off in an empty hotel room, and at most, they’ll be laughing about it tomorrow at practice.

It was just a favor.

They’re friends.

She echoes it to herself until she falls asleep; _friends we’re friends just friends. _

:::

**two.**

:::

The second time, it happens, because—

Well, mostly because of a penalty kick.

:::

It’s months later, months past the hotel room and the champagne and Christen kissing her way down Tobin’s neck, straddling Tobin’s hips—

They’re back to normal.

They get coffee together before early morning practice. They talk strategy during games. They hang out with the rest of the team, and they hug when they score goals, and they sit next to each other on the bus—and no one knows that they’ve had sex. Tobin doesn’t bring it up, and Christen is absolutely fine with not discussing it either.

She knows Tobin.

It’s not like _that _between them, anyway.

What they have, is something solid and stable. Something that makes them win games on the field and be really good friends off the field. What they have is an _insane _understanding of how the other person plays the game; and they love each other, first and foremost, Christen reminds herself, because of soccer.

No way she’s going to mess with soccer.

:::

They’ve got a friendly against Australia, and they’ve been tied 1-1 for the majority of the game. Somehow, they’re unable to find proper rhythm today, unable to carry any of their plays through to the box.

It’s the 89th minute when Tobin gets fouled.

She’s fought her way past four defenders, into the box, is already aiming at goal—when, out of nowhere, she’s tackled to the ground and the ball is lost.

They get a penalty kick out of it, though.

As Tobin lines up the ball, Christen feels the entire stadium collectively hold their breath. This could be their one shot. This could be their one chance at a win. But penalty kicks are the worst.

Christen _knows_—maybe better than most. 

She’s watching as the ball flies off Tobin’s foot, is watching as it soars through the air, is watching as it hits the crossbar, and the Australian team erupts with joy—and Tobin’s whole face falls.

:::

They didn’t lose, of course, but they didn’t win either—and sometimes that’s just as bad.

There’s a kind of defeated silence in the locker room as they mechanically go through the post-game motions. Alex is patting Tobin’s back, saying it doesn’t matter, saying next time she will hit it, saying she played _so well _today despite everything. Sonnett has put on music to lift the spirits a bit, dancing her way through the room.

Tobin is nodding to what people are saying to her, is trying to smile, is trying to be a good teammate.

But Christen _knows_.

She knows what it’s like to be able to win a match and then fuck it up.

And okay, this is not the Olympics, but she also knows that for Tobin every match counts, no matter how big or small or important is.

She watches as Tobin tries to keep it together, and her heart clenches at the sight.

“No, I’m fine,” she hears Tobin tell Kelley. “I just need a second. I’ll be back in a minute, don’t worry.”

She watches as Tobin slips out of the locker room, alone—and she just can’t help herself. She follows.

:::

It takes a while, but eventually she finds Tobin; leaning back against the wall of some far-off corner of the stadium that’s already cleared of supporters, and is about as far away from the locker room as they can get. 

When Tobin catches sight of her, she sighs, leans her head back the wall. “Are you also going to tell me that it’s not my fault? That soccer is a _team _sport?”

Christen takes a tentative step closer.

And then before she can say anything, Tobin already breaks.

“_Fuck_,” she chokes out. “I just feel so stupid. Our chance was right there—we almost had it, but I got distracted, just for one second or something, and the goalkeeper got into my head, and I know it’s dumb to be upset about it, but I just feel like I really messed it up, and I’ve just been so in my head—”

“Hey,” Christen says, stepping forward and taking a hold of Tobin’s hands. “Look, I know how it feels, okay? Come here.”

She wraps her arms around Tobin’s neck and Tobin sort of sinks into it, letting Christen pull her closer.

“What are you so in your head about?” Christen asks softly,

Tobin is shaking. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve been so fucking stressed out, lately. Like, I can’t focus on anything.”

Christen presses her lips against Tobin’s cheek—doesn’t even think about it.

“What do you need?” she whispers. “What can I do?”

“I don’t—”

Tobin leans back slightly. Her eyes dark and serious. Her hair is messy and her there’s something about the sight—

Suddenly, the tension is back with full force.

Christen swallows hard, forces herself not to think about it. Not to think about the fact that the last time they were this close to each other, they were naked. Her breathing goes uneven, and they’re so up in each other’s space again, arms around each other, faces close, and Tobin is looking at her like she’s waiting for Christen to make something happen—

So she does.

She leans forward and brushes her mouth against Tobin’s, just for a second, just the lightest of kisses—

When she realizes what she’s doing, she startles away from Tobin’s body.

“Sorry,” she rushes out. ”That was—that was really inappropriate. I didn’t meant to do that. I was just—”

Tobin pulls hard on Christen’s waist, and then they’re kissing for real.

It’s a little bit messy; rushed and tense—with too many different emotions between them—but Christen sinks herself into it, feels like if Tobin wants it, if this is the _one thing _that she can do right now to help, the one thing that might make Tobin feel a little bit better, why would she stop it?

She pulls back, just for a moment, just to breathe—

And then she is kissing down Tobin’s jaw, her neck, across all the exposed skin she can find. Her fingers are playing with the hem of Tobin’s sweater; she’s dying to drag it up, dying to just run her hands over Tobin’s stomach—

She presses her thumb against Tobin’s hip and Tobin moans. “Chris…”

That’s it.

That’s all it takes—the breathy way Tobin says Christen’s name, eyes closed and hips bucking forward. 

She’s sliding her hand lower, fingers playing with the waistband of Tobin’s shorts. Tobin’s skin is hot all over.

“Do you—” Christen’s voice is a little hoarse. “Do you want me to—”

Tobin doesn’t answer, falls back against the wall with a sort of pained expression on her face, biting on her bottom lip, and looking like she’s not exactly sure that she wants, what she can ask for, if they’re really—

Christen kisses her again.

“It’s okay,” she whispers into Tobin’s skin. “I want to make you feel good. Want to make you feel better…” 

“Christen…” Tobin’s pushing a bit more into her.

She’s dipping her fingers under the waistband of Tobin’s shorts, feeling Tobin’s abs tense up under her touch. “What do you need, babe?”

The word slips past her lips before she can take it back.

Tobin groans. “_Fuck_—just… just—touch me.”

Christen bites her lip hard, and then she’s sliding her hand down the front of Tobin’s shorts, into her underwear and right to where Tobin wants her.

It’s a little rushed, a little messy—she’s in such a hurry to please, to make Tobin feel good, that it’s not the most skilled she’s ever been.

It doesn’t seem to matter, though.

She fucks Tobin against the wall of the stadium, with all of their clothes still on, to a steady stream of “_yes_, like that—so good—_please, Chris…_don’t stop…” in her ear.

She kisses Tobin through it. Kisses her everywhere; her neck, her jaw, her ear, her lips. Kisses her through the aftershocks of the orgasm. Kisses her—

Because she can’t stop.

Because she wants to, more than anything else.

Tobin’s breathing slowly deepens.

“You okay?” Christen whispers against her lips. “Is that—was that…?”

“So good,” Tobin chokes out. “God—you’re… Chris, that was so good.”

They’re looking at each other; hair messed up, clothes wrinkled, mouths a little swollen. Christen strokes a loose strand of Tobin’s hair behind her ear. She wants to lean in and kiss her again, but suddenly, she feels like she overstepped.

She pulls back just a little bit, trying to find some composure.

Tobin’s blushing when she says, “Thanks—for, uh, that.”

Christen nods, a little too quickly. “No problem. You’re welcome. My pleasure.”

_Damn it_.

She cringes at her own choice of words.

Tobin is looking at her intently, and suddenly Christen feels like she needs to leave, before she goes ahead and does something _dumb—_something even dumber than making one of her best friends come against the wall of a soccer stadium. 

“I’ll—uh,” she says, stepping back. “I’ll go back. I’m sure you still want some space, so I’m just going to go…”

She doesn’t wait to hear Tobin’s response, is already turning around, walking in the direction of the stairs that will lead back to where she came from.

She’s walked about two strides, and then Tobin’s hand is on her wrist, yanking her back.

There’s a split second where Christen can’t understand what’s happening—

And then her back is against the wall and Tobin is kissing her, hard and needy, and they’re right back where they left off. She pushes her hand up under Christen’s shirt, ghosts it over the fabric of her bra, before slipping her fingers under to play with Christen’s nipple—making Christen gasp.

There’s a wave of heat rolling though her body—this tight, hot thing that makes Christen whimper as Tobin drags her fingers teasingly over Christen’s skin, slides one hand back to squeeze her ass, kisses her hard. 

And then—

Fuck.

Christen’s thought about it—

But never like _this_.

Never imagined Tobin pulling her shorts down in the empty hallway of a soccer stadium, where anyone could come walk around a corner any moment, and drop to her knees on the concrete floor in front of her.

Never imagined Tobin smirking up to her like that, her mouth on the inside of Christen’s thigh, like she’d just been waiting for this.

Never imagined that the real thing—Tobin’s licking up and through her, tonguing at her clit—would be so much fucking hotter than any fantasy. 

She bites down on her wrist to stop herself from screaming out.

Tobin goes down on her like it’s the one thing that matters; like they’ve got all the time in the world; like she doesn’t care about anything else.

Christen comes, first with Tobin’s mouth on her clit, and then _again_, with Tobin’s fingers curling inside her as she presses Christen back against the wall with her whole body.

Right before she tips over the edge the second time, Tobin is saying, “Yes, Chris—God, you’re so hot—I love that you get so wet…”

And Christen is trying to think to herself, _it’s just a favor_, is trying to think _we’re just helping each other out_, is trying to think _don’t call her babe again just don’t_.

But she chokes out, “Babe—I’m going to—”

She comes again, and it feels like she’s lying to herself. 

:::

**three.**

:::

It becomes a problem.

The thing is—she wasn’t supposed to have it twice.

It becomes a problem.

Because now that Christen knows what it’s like, she can’t want anything else anymore.

:::

They’re not in the same city, for once.

Tobin’s back in Portland and Christen is in LA at the moment—and it’s been a while since they’ve seen each other.

They’ve been texting, though. More so than usual. For the most part it’s been pictures of their morning coffees, quick good luck messages, jokes about the rest of the team. Lately, though, Tobin has been sending Christen a lot more personal stuff; videos from inside the Portland locker rooms, sleepy voice messages when she’s about to head to bed and too tired to type, and selfies. A lot of selfies.

Christen’s not really doing anything when the notification pops up on her screen, but she nearly chokes.

It’s a picture; a very nicely angled shot of Tobin in front of the locker room mirror. It’s captured _getting ready for the game_, with a bicep-flex emoji attached to it. Tobin’s hair is still down and she’s grinning at the camera, flexing her arm, too.

This is not the problem.

The problem is that Tobin is only wearing a pair of boxers and a bra.

Christen can feel her whole body go hot.

There is so much skin on display; so much smooth and tan and glowing skin. She can see the lines in Tobin’s stomach, but also the soft parts of her thighs. There’s so much confidence in Tobin’s smile that it drives Christen crazy.

For fuck’s sake, she’s not even wearing soccer shorts, yet.

She is basically sending Christen selfies in her underwear—and Christen thinks that this is the most unfair thing that has ever happened to her. 

She swallows hard. 

It takes her way too long to type something back.

She can’t play it off like it’s nothing—doesn’t really want to, anyway. But she’s also not about to admit to Tobin just how affected she really is.

In the end she settles on, _go kill them with those abs, _with the fire emoji attached to it.

It’s just a supportive message, she thinks.

She’s just being supportive.

:::

Every time the camera focuses on Tobin, Christen feels herself get more and more tense.

There’s just something about it; something about watching her play, and knowing how Tobin’s body feels under her hands—how smooth and strong and _hot _she is.

She’s barely able to focus on the game.

Her eyes keep tracking the number 17 for the entire 90 minutes of the Portland match, and when it’s over—a 3-1 win for Portland with Tobin scoring two of those goals—Christen feels like her entire skin is burning.

She tries to ignore it, tries to ignore what she can already feel building low in her body.

Instead, she grabs a bottle of wine from the cupboard and pours herself a glass, trying to calm herself down.

Tobin will be busy celebrating. She’s all the way in Portland. It’s not like—

The second the thought enters Christen’s mind, she curses herself for thinking it. This is _not _what they do. They play soccer. They’re friends. Friends don’t think—

But Christen’s thinking about it—her mind already in overdrive.

She’s thinking about what it would be like if they were together right now, how she could congratulate Tobin on the win; all hands and lips and tongue. It flashes through her mind in quick thoughts. She’s thinking about going to back to Tobin's place, about the Uber drive there; how she’d keep her hand on Tobin’s thigh the whole way, how she’d slip her fingers higher and higher, leaning over and whispering exactly what she’d want Tobin to do to her when they’d get home. She’s thinking about pushing Tobin’s legs open on the bed; about all the sounds she can get her to make; about licking through her until she’d be moaning nothing but Christen’s name. She’s thinking about using her mouth, her fingers, her body—everything. Just to make Tobin come. To see her fall apart. To make her feel _so good _that she’d never want anyone else—

_Fuck. _

That snaps her out of it.

She’s trembling, biting down on her bottom lip. She chugs the rest of the glass of wine in one go. She tells herself she needs to stop this _right now_—before it gets out of hand.

Instead, she reaches for her phone and pulls up Tobin’s chat. The locker room picture is the last thing Tobin’s sent to her. Christen taps it to full screen, stares at Tobin’s body for long minutes, feeling herself get hotter by the second.

And then she’s typing.

She doesn’t mean to be _this _honest about it, but she’s sent it before she can stop herself.

_Watching you score was really hot._

She takes a deep breath, doesn’t expect any reply. But it’s only about two minutes later when her phone buzzes and Tobin’s reply flashes across her screen. _I was showing off a bit for you._

Christen bites down on her bottom lip.

She can’t do this. She really can’t.

She’s doing it, anyway; types out, _When are you going to be home_?

Tobin doesn’t answer the question. Instead she says, _Why are you asking?_

And Christen doesn’t want to say it, she really doesn’t. She sighs hard, throws her phone across the couch to the other end. Her whole body is tight with tension, and she knows, she fucking knows that she’s _wet_. Knows there’s only one thing she can do to make the aching stop.

She sighs hard, then gets up off the couch.

:::

It doesn’t work.

She’s half-naked on the bed, still wearing her shirt, sliding her fingers between her legs, working herself up like she always does—

But for some fucking reason, it’s not enough tonight.

She’s thought of every hot thing that she usually falls back on—that one afternoon with her ex on the rocks by the beach; that wild, wild college night when some girl with a nose piercing fucked her in the bathroom of a club—but it’s not working. It’s like they’re all ghost memories, barely there, and certainly not as powerful as the thought of—

But she _won’t._

She won’t think about Tobin.

Instead, Christen fucks two fingers inside herself a little harder, a little faster, trying to get herself off purely on physicality, on stimulation, on the thought of _nothing_.

It’s not—

She’s so fucking wet and so fucking turned on, and it’s not enough.

Her whole body is shivering. There’s a feeling at the back of her throat that borders on desperation; all tight and needy, like she might cry if she doesn’t get any relief.

She circles her fingers over her clit, shudders again, but it’s not, it’s still not—

The wine is making her mind a little cloudy—and then she’s reaching for her phone, sliding her thumb down her contact list.

She won’t pick up, she tells herself.

It’s okay to call because she won’t pick up, anyway.

“Chris?”

Tobin picks up after the third ring, and Christen’s whole body contracts at the sound of her voice.

Fuck.

_Fuck, _okay—_fuck. _

“Are you alone?” she breathes out, instead of saying hello.

Tobin’s quiet for about half a moment, and then she says, “Yeah—I just got home.” 

“I’m—” Her breathing is so uneven. “Tobin, I’m _wet_.”

She can hear Tobin’s inhale, harsh and sudden. “You’re… you’re—”

She knows she should probably give Tobin a second, but Christen’s already too far gone now to turn back.

“Your fault,” she rasps out. “All evening—first with that picture and then with that game, and you’re just — so I—I tried to touch myself… but nothing is working, and I’m so—_so_ turned on, and I’m losing my mind because I can’t fucking come—”

Tobin’s breathing is harsh. “God, Chris…” she says. “Are you…”

“_Yes_,” Christen says, sliding her fingers once again through the wetness.

Tobin is quiet for a moment, and then she says, “What do you need?”

“Just—your voice,” Christen chokes out. “Just—talk to me. Tell me—”

She doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to say _tell me what to do_, but she thinks that Tobin can hear it, anyway, because Tobin is already shushing her, calming her down. “Okay, okay. I got you… Chris, I’ll tell you, okay? Just—give me one second. I need to—”

There’s a little bit of noise on the other side of the line, and Christen doesn’t know what Tobin’s doing, and it’s driving her insane.

“Tobin,” she breathes out.

“I’m here,” Tobin rushes to say. “I’m here, Chris. I’ve got you.”

She’s slowly calming down a little bit at the sound of Tobin’s voice; still as much worked up as before, but a little bit more settled. She shifts a little deeper into the covers, trying to slow her breath.

“Are you in bed?” Tobin is asking, then.

“Yes.”

“Are you naked?”

Christen shakes her head, before realizing that Tobin can’t see her. “No,” she says, then. “I’m still wearing my shirt and my bra.”

“Take them off,” Tobin says immediately. “Take it all off.”

_Fuck_.

There’s something authoritative in Tobin’s voice that has Christen’s heartbeat speeding up.

“Okay, hold on—” she says. “Have to put the phone—”

“I’m not on speaker?” Tobin interrupts.

“Uh—”

“Christen…” Tobin says, and Christen can picture the smug smile that is playing out on Tobin’s face, wishes she was here to kiss it off. “Put me on speaker.”

She does; she switches her phone to speaker, throws it on the pillow next to her; slips out of her shirt and unhooks her bra, falls back into the pillow. 

“You’re doing it?”

“Yes,” Christen breathes out. “I’m—I’m naked now.”

She can hear Tobin swallow on the other side of the line. “Are you going to do what I tell you to?”

Christen feels her throat go dry.

“_Yes_,” she says, trying to keep from her voice just how much she likes that.

“Good,” Tobin says, and it sends a shiver down the length of Christen’s back. “I want you to put one of your hands on your ribs. Can you do that for me?” 

Christen hums, brings one of her hands up to her breast, while Tobin says, “Slowly stroke your nipple. Imagine that I’m—that I’m the one doing it. That I’m the one running my fingers over your boobs, kissing down your collarbones, licking at your nipples—”

Christen’s breath catches in her throat.

_Fuck._

The wave of pleasure is so harsh and sudden that she almost surprised by it. She’s been turned on for so long already, trying not to think about any of this—and with Tobin saying just exactly what Christen needs her to, it’s like she’s instantly on the edge again.

She thought she would need to be worked up—fingers over her hips, nails dragging slowly over her thighs—but Tobin barely has to say anything.

That’s how much she’s into this.

“Keep going,” she says. “That’s really—_fuck,_ I’m getting even wetter.”

Tobin groans. “Baby—”

And that—

_Jesus_.

Christen moans—can’t stop the sound from slipping past her lips as her whole body clenches tight.

“Sorry—” Tobin rushes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Say it again,” Christen chokes out, running her hand a little harder over her nipple and not being able to stop another breathy moan. “_Please_.”

“Baby…” Tobin whispers. “God, you drive me crazy. Hearing you touch yourself like this. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, Chris.”

“Keep going,” she says again. “Tell me—”

“Slide one hand between your legs,” Tobin says. “Touch yourself softly. Just a little bit of pressure…” Christen groans in frustration, but Tobin says, “Trust me. I’m going to make you feel so good, Chris.”

She does it; she slips her hand between her thighs, draws achingly slow circles around her clit, not touching herself directly, but teasing closer, closer—

“I can’t wait to touch you again,” Tobin says. “To push you onto your back and feel how wet you are for me. _God_, I want to put my mouth on you—taste you. Feel you tremble against my tongue—”

“_Fuck—_” Christen swears. “I need—”

“That’s it, baby,” Tobin says. “You’re doing so good. Use your other hand. Do you want to fuck yourself for me, Chris?”

She tries to say yes, but her throat is closed off.

“Two fingers,” Tobin says. “Slowly.”

She does it; can feel herself spasm with how _good _it feels. Her breath speeds up, her skin goes hot all over. She curls her fingers, fucks them in and out of herself a little bit harder.

“Is that good?”

“_Yes_.”

“Use your fingers on your clit,” Tobin says, breathless and hoarse. “Speed up just a little bit, and touch your clit. Imagine I’m doing it, baby—imagine it’s my mouth on you, licking you open, fucking you a little bit quicker, a little bit harder—”

Goddamnit, she’s close now.

She’s so—

“Tobin,” she chokes out. “I’m—I need—” Her voice nearly breaks. “I want you here. Want you doing it.” 

“Me too,” Tobin says. “Want to kiss you as you come.”

_Fuck. _

She shoots over the edge just like that; pulsing hard around her own fingers—

She chokes and moans and she thinks she says _I’m coming_, thinks she says _Tobin Tobin_, prays she doesn’t actually say anything more than that—

Her whole body shakes with waves of pleasure, and she’s so relieved, and so relaxed now, and she wants to—

She wants—

She breathes it out into the air on her next exhale.

“I want to see you. Want to come to Portland.”

:::

**four.**

:::

This is the most insane thing she has ever done.

It’s the middle of the night and she’s at the airport, getting onto the next flight to Portland, because this is apparently what happens when she gets an orgasm like that—all logical thinking gets thrown out of the window. She’s not even bringing much; just a backpack with some clean clothes and her phone. That’s it.

She’s at LAX in the middle of the night, all because she wants to go see some girl.

Well, not _some _girl.

The next flight leaves in an hour, and she’s already waiting at the gate. She shoots Tobin a text—a picture of her bag and Starbucks coffee cup; _see you in 3,5 hours x_.

Tobin texts back: _you’re out of your mind press_, followed by, _I’m so ready for you to be here_, and then, _you’re gorgeous, you know that? _

It makes Christen blush a little; less than two hours ago she was naked and panting Tobin’s name into her phone, and now a simple text like that makes her blush. She tries to shrug it off, but finds that she can’t. She can’t do anything but smile.

She texts back: _get comfortable on that bed of yours_, and then, _you’re not getting any sleep tonight. _

:::

It’s early morning, when Tobin opens the door in shorts and a t-shirt—and Christen couldn’t be more into it.

She drops her bag on the ground, throws her jacket off her shoulders and then steps forward and kisses Tobin—just like that. No hesitation, no awkward apologies. She’s been wanting to kiss Tobin all night, and now she can, and so she _does._

Tobin lets herself be pushed back against the wall of the hallway; lets Christen pull hard on her hips, run her fingers slowly up the bare skin of Tobin’s abdomen, in the way that makes her moan a little, lets Christen kiss her breathless—

And then Christen is pulling back and says, with a bit of a grin, “Congrats on the game.”

Tobin smirks. “Thought you’d never say it.”

She leans forward, captures Christen’s mouth again. They’re not even halfway through the corridor, when Christen drags Tobin’s t-shirt up and off—nearly chokes when she realizes that Tobin wasn’t wearing a bra.

“God,” she says instead, “You’re hot.”

Tobin grins smugly, pulls on Christen’s wrists until she’s back against her—all needy touches and hot, wet kisses down the line of her neck. Christen’s kicking off her shoes and stepping out of her jeans before they’ve reached the door.

She stumbles inside, pushes Tobin down until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, then takes a small step back, making sure she’s got Tobin’s eyes on her when she begins to unbutton her shirt, dragging Tobin’s gaze right to where she wants it.

Tonight, she _is _wearing her prettiest lingerie.

It’s the one thing she properly took care of while packing her bag.

The look Tobin is giving her is so heated that Christen can barely keep her distance. 

She ties her hair up slowly, watches intently as Tobin bites down on her bottom lip, her chest heaving up and down. She looks like she’s seconds away from getting up and off the bed—looks like she’s ready to have her way with Christen against the wall, if she doesn’t get to touch her right now.

But that’s not happening.

Not right now, anyway, Christen thinks.

“Stay there,” she says, and then—because she wants to and because she knows what it will do to Tobin—she adds, with a bit of an edge to her voice, “I’m in charge now.”

Tobin’s breathing hitches. “Fuck…” she whispers. “Fuck—okay.”

Christen smirks, and then steps forward. “I feel like I owe you a favor…” She swings her leg over Tobin’s hips, slides down into her lap. “What do you think? Is there something you want?”

She ghosts her lips over Tobin’s neck, kissing her slowly, dragging her teeth up the exposed skin and then sucking a little harder. Tobin groans, arches forward, her hips pressing up into Christen’s. Her hands are on Christen’s thighs, gripping hard. Christen smiles, brings one of her hands up and then strokes her thumb over Tobin’s nipple, loving the sound that Tobin makes as she does it.

“_God—_”

“Hmm…” Christen says, doing the same to Tobin’s other nipple. “Sounds like you do…”

She kisses Tobin hotly; rocking forward with a little push.

“Been thinking about this—” she whispers into Tobin’s mouth. “All my flight. Been thinking about what I wanted to do when I got here.” She squeezes Tobin’s boob with the palm of her hand. “I think—” She slides her hand lower. “I want to make you come—” Plays with the hem of Tobin’s shorts. “First, with my mouth—” Tobin shivers against her. “Then, with my fingers…” Christen dips them under the waistband of Tobin’s shorts. “And then with both.”

Tobin’s head falls back. “_Baby—_”

Christen’s whole body shudders. “Love it when you call me that.”

There’s something there. She knows. There’s something under those words that she can’t really ignore anymore. She can see it in the dark look that Tobin is giving her; can feel it in the way her own heart is racing in her throat; how she feels like she is on fire; breathless and wanted and _ready_—for whatever it is.

But before she can say anything about it, Tobin is flipping her over and pressing her down into the mattress, kissing her hard.

Christen moans.

Feels her whole body light up with the way Tobin’s mouth works into her skin, her fingers trailing lines all over; her boobs, her hips, her thighs, her neck—

She can feel she’s wet against the fabric of her panties, had one of the best orgasms of her life not even six hours ago and is already—

But first—

She slides her hand down into Tobin’s underwear, just like that, swipes her fingers through the slick heat that she finds, and Tobin loses all of her control instantly.

She rocks forward against Christen’s hand, barely able to hold herself up. “God—”

Christen kisses her, says against her lips, “I want you first.”

She makes Tobin lie down on her back, drags her shorts and underwear off at once, and then just _looks_. She knows she’s blushing; knows she’s being way too obvious with how much she loves looking at Tobin’s body.

Still, it seems like it only makes Tobin more desperate, more needy for her touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” Christen whispers. “So beautiful.”

Tobin’s head falls back into the pillows. Christen slides her fingers slowly and carefully up the insides of Tobin’s thighs, urging her silently to spread her legs wider. She kisses Tobin’s stomach; runs her tongue over her hips; works her fingers in slow circles, teasing only a little bit—

“Christen…” Tobin’s voice has gone breathless with need. “Baby, if you— if you keep that up, I’m already—”

It rushes through Christen’s body, the fact that she’s got Tobin this close to the edge, already.

She leans forward, without any sort of warning, and then her mouth is on Tobin—and Tobin just about screams. Her hands fist into Christen’s hair, hips bucking upwards like she can’t control herself.

Suddenly, it’s messy and fast; Christen licking at Tobin’s clit with quick strokes; Tobin pulling just the slightest bit on Christen’s hair—

It nearly sends her over the edge herself; the way Tobin’s body seems to contract, and then shudders in waves, as she comes.

She’s shaking all over, but Christen—

Christen isn’t done.

She brings her fingers up, waits for the slightest of moments until Tobin is choking out “_yes_” and then slides them inside in one fluid movement.

Tobin gets _loud_—swears and moans, rocking her hips up and into it, reaches blindly for Christen’s other hand, and then tugs on it, and says, “Come—come here. I want—”

Christen moves up Tobin’s body and kisses her before she can finish the sentence. She slips out, just for a second, changing the angle before Tobin has time to whine at the lack of pressure.

Christen’s wrist burns, but it’s worth it.

She kisses Tobin, bites down her bottom lip, shakes with her all the way through it as she comes a second time.

:::

Later, Tobin urges Christen up the bed until she’s straddling Tobin’s face, hands against the headboard, and Christen nearly blacks out.

Later, Christen fucks Tobin with one of Tobin’s legs up over her shoulder.

Later, they barely make it to the bathroom to shower, because they first have sex against the door and then again _in_ the shower and then in the bed, again.

Christen stops counting.

:::

**(one)**

:::

She wakes up feeling like something has changed. She wakes up with Tobin softly breathing against her back, still fast asleep.

Christen closes her eyes for another moment, curls herself closer into Tobin’s warmth.

Sun is coming in through the windows, and Christen thinks, with the lack of sleep they’ve gotten, that it is probably pretty late already, but everything is still quiet enough.

She shifts slightly and Tobin’s breathing changes. She presses herself closer to Christen’s naked body and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “You smell good.”

Christen can’t fight her smile.

She turns around slowly, pressing a kiss against Tobin’s jaw. “I’m going to make coffee.”

Tobin hums, pulls a little on Christen’s hips in protest, but eventually lets her slip out from under the covers. She grabs her underwear and Tobin’s t-shirt from the floor and then tip-toes into the kitchen.

She goes through the process of making coffee—the measuring, the waiting, the steaming of the milk.

She doesn’t realize Tobin has been standing in the doorway, watching her with a smile, until she turns around.

Tobin grins. “This is a sight I could get used to.”

Christen arches her eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Tobin steps forward, puts a hand on Christen’s waist and kisses her softly. Christen can feel herself blush at how _domestic _that is. She tries to roll her eyes, but can’t manage.

Instead, she licks her lips, pushes herself to look up at Tobin.

When she was younger, people used to say she wasn’t brave enough.

“Maybe you should ask me out then,” she says.

:::

Tobin goes down on her against the kitchen island, saying _you’re gorgeous, _saying _Chris, I like you so much_, saying _do you want to go out with me? _

It makes Christen’s whole body shudder.

She thinks that she could get used to this, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> CP in this fic: *literally gets on a plane to give her girlfriend an orgasm* 
> 
> Why do I write these things lol. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, my obsession with women’s soccer and these two has reached peak level this past week, to the point where you can now also find me on tumblr haha. I am the worst with using tumblr, but if you ever have any questions or just want to talk about Christen Press with me, hit me up: e-lec-tric-in-di-go


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